


Blink

by RobinsGirlWonder



Series: Son of a Woodworker [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinsGirlWonder/pseuds/RobinsGirlWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>August wakes up just as Emma is taken from him. So why isn't he there when his father comes looking?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blink

His eyes don't feel dry.

His eyes don't… feel anything. Not dry, not wet, not in pain, he's just…

He blinks. The sensation feels different.

The realization sweeps over him as he tries to move, and his finger twitches with firmer joints than he's had in 28 years. His finger… he tries to move his leg, he feels the stiffness, the change in sensation. The  _dullness_  of the sensation.

He's wooden. Alive. But wooden.

At once, the weight of what that means comes crashing down on him, threatening to drown him in emotions like the waves that swept him off of his father's raft so many years ago. That same fear, that horrible, terrifying pressure, that suffocating fear that he'll never see the light of day, that everything's all coming to an end –

He blinks again. Still wooden. But, still alive.

_But still selfish. And a coward._ August's conscience, which he had really hoped he could ignore until he'd met Emma, had returned, and reminded him that he'd had unfinished business. Business he'd eventually just… given up on.

But, he was alive. He had a chance now.

August manages to get to his feet, trying to ignore the way everything feels dull, unreal. He's spent 28 years as a man, a real man, with flesh and blood and bones and… He'd chuckle if it wasn't so pathetic… a man with stubble.

Emma liked his stubble.

_Emma._

August makes his way to the bathroom, a stiff shell – or in this case, marionette – of the man he once was, and flips on the light switch, trying to remember how to use his limbs in their new state. To think he'd once been that way, well… even he'd tried to forget over time. Now, in the harsh light of his bathroom, it was impossible to disbelieve. He was the Wooden Boy. And he's a Wooden Man.

Fat lot of good that does him.

There's a commotion from outside of Granny's, and he stumbles back out of the bathroom to the window, pulling back the curtain just enough that he can see the people of Storybrooke… the people  _recognizing each other_.

His heart, wooden as it might be, still skips a beat, and he smiles.

_Emma, you did it._ He might've had to leave her now, but his sacrifice hadn't been in vain. She'd  _saved_  them, she'd broken the curse. Well, for the most part.

He backs away from the window, glancing down at his own body. As far as trade-offs went, at least if he had to be wooden, he was in a town full of people who understood what… who he was.

_And what is that?_  He finds himself asking as he goes to reach for his jacket, pausing at the sight of a jointed, wooden wrist. A selfish boy who couldn't do the one damn thing his father had told him to. A selfish man who'd tried to drown his guilt in booze, women, and travel, hoping he'd never have to run back to the one person he never should have left. And when he couldn't run anymore, when he  _had_  to come back, he'd made the worst decision of them all. He'd cared for Emma. Too much. It blinded him, it made it too easy to put off every instance where he could try to make things clear to her, until it was too late and his last ditch effort had pushed her away.

But, then she'd come back. Asking for  _his_  help. He remembered that. And he couldn't even open the door for her.

_Some Protector you thought you'd be._

Maybe he could fix it, make up for it. Wooden or not, he could still find Emma, help her. The curse might've been broken, but the panic outside meant something was  _very_ wrong.

He would find her. He would go help her.

August shrugs on his leather jacket, trying to ignore how much extra effort that takes, and grabs his bandanna, slinging that around his neck lazily. He'll come back for his things later.

He makes his way down the steps surprisingly easy, as no one's in the inn to begin with. He can still hear commotion outside, and he takes care to get his gloves on and throw his helmet on, hoping it'll detract from his lacquered appearance. He's become such an expert at running away, it's just as easy now as it was then. But, he tells himself he's not running away.

As he sneaks out of the inn and to his bike, he tells himself he's going to find Emma. She has to be close.

And that's when he hears it. He can hear Ruby as she turns the corner, and he ducks behind the shed next to his bike to listen. He can't pick out much, but he hears enough.

"You think they'll find them?... You think Snow and Emma are really gone?"

August tells himself that he's not possibly hearing what he thinks. He's from a land of fairytales. That's the land where people know when the one they love is gone. Really and truly gone. They just  _know_.

She can't be.

Grumpy's voice pierces the conversation of the crowd, shouting "Terrible news!"

August leans around the edge of the shed just enough to see the group gathered near the Prince and Red, all of them…

There's his father.

His Papa.

August swallows, surprised at how that feels, given his new state of affairs, but that clammy, cold wash of fear and childlike guilt, worry that his father wouldn't approve of the man he'd become, it's too much to bear at that moment.

Forget the bike. He'll walk.

The sounds of panic, shouting and worry fade away as August just keeps walking. He's not sure where. He doesn't even realize what he's doing as he passes the post office, Gold's shop, Mary Margaret's apartment. It's not until he's in the woods and it's grown dark that he realizes he's left his hat, his bike, hell, his  _typewriter._

He just doesn't know how to turn around and walk back.

But, he's not running away.

He just needs time.

August heads for the well as the last of the light fades, and he trips, collapsing back to the ground on his back.

Only Emma isn't there to help snark him back to his feet.

In the darkness, he focuses on the stars peeking through the trees. They seem brighter tonight.

He does something he hasn't done in ages.

He makes a wish.

If there's any magic in this world… that wish will come true.

Until then, he needs a plan. And at least this time, he doesn't have anywhere else to run. No more running. He did that once. If he has any chance of going back to the way he wants to be, August needs to grow up. That's the last time he gets to run. He knows it.

Brave, unselfish, and truthful.

Tall order to fill. No one's perfect.


End file.
